


With or Without You

by miss_begonia



Category: The OC
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t know if an explanation is needed,” Seth says, hating how cold he sounds but not knowing how to melt the ice in his throat, on the tips of his fingers.</p><p>“No, it is needed, but maybe not…not over the phone.”  Ryan pauses, then says quickly, “I’m coming home.”</p><p>Seth doesn’t know where Ryan is coming from, or what he will bring with him other than memories and a chill.  Freezer burn.</p><p>“Well,” Seth sighs, “you’ve always known where to find me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	With or Without You

  
_He was my North, my South, my East and West,_  
My working week and my Sunday rest,  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

_The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;_  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,  
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

_(W.H. Auden)_

_~*~_

_Never expected to wake up to find him gone. Never expected to fall asleep at all. Never thought he was serious. Never thought I’d see him crack, break into pieces like a jigsaw puzzle pulled apart at the edges._

_She’s dead, yes. End of life. End of sentence._

_The last thing he said: “I…can’t do this. I can’t.”_

_Never heard him say can’t before. Never believed it._

_Never stops hurting._

~*~

Seth wakes slowly, conscious of the gentle pressure on his chest, undulating as he breathes. The sun cuts through the blinds in pinstripes, dividing the bed into columns, dark and light. He exhales, the air getting caught in his throat.

He’s fallen asleep with Sam again.

She is curled into the crook of his arm, head nestled against his chest. All he can see is her crown of light, feathery hair.

_She’s perfect._

Summer will be pissed, which is why he will not tell her. He remembers her last lecture vividly. “You could smush her!” she said, poking him in the chest with one long, well-manicured fingernail. “You roll over an inch, and no more baby!”

Seth tried not to laugh, but it was very, very hard. Summer didn’t appreciate his valiant effort, and huffed off to impart her wisdom to someone who might actually appreciate it.

He hears the door close, followed by a stream of curses.

A shaggy mass of jet black hair peeks around the door. “Hey,” Seth murmurs. “I’m awake.”

Josh pads into the room, flipping a strand of hair off his forehead and rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Hey, babe,” he mumbles, his voice soft and sleepy.

“Which one?” Seth smiles, then tilts his chin up to accept his kiss.

“Both,” Josh says, bringing one hand up to brush his fingertips over Seth’s nose and along the line of his jaw. He cocks his head to one side, thoughtful. “She keeps getting more gorgeous, Seth. Every day I think, ‘no, she’s as gorgeous as gorgeous gets,’ and then…’”

“You don’t know from gorgeous, hon,” Seth says, his voice taking on a hoarse New York rasp. “You of the East, of the brutish island city –“

“You’re so funny.” Josh flicks his cheek. “And I happen to think I know gorgeous when I see it.” He leans down and their lips meet again, the contact silky and sexy.

“Well, I thank god for your legal blindness,” Seth breathes when they break apart.

Josh’s almond eyes crinkle at the edges. “And you, dahling, make it worth it to tend bar for nine hours just so I can come home to your messy hair and blurry eyes.”

Seth attempts to smooth down his rat’s nest of curls.

Josh catches his wrist between his fingers. “Don’t.”

Sam stirs in his arms then, her hands balling into fists. “Uh oh,” Seth whispers. “I think she’s ready for lift off.”

She blinks open her eyes, taking a moment before focusing them on Josh. He arches an eyebrow. “Hey sweetheart,” he says. “Sethela’s a good sleeping companion, huh?”

Seth wrinkles his nose. “I hate when you call me that. It reminds me of Nana, and you are definitely not my Nana, for so many reasons –“

“Those eyes,” Josh says, his voice laced with awe. “Crazy.”

“Crazy,” Seth repeats. Sam turns her unwavering gaze on him, and he feels a dark tendril of grief twist around his heart. “Baby blue,” he says. “Blue like sky and like rain. Blue like the ocean.”

Josh stares at him. “You okay?”

Seth glances up. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I – “

Josh’s hand clasps his shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles over his collarbone. “I know it’s hard,” he mutters, brushing his lips over Seth’s ear.

Josh knows many things about many things. But he will never know how hard it is, or how blue Seth’s world sometimes gets.

~*~

_It was so strange seeing Marissa like that – big, round. I was so used to her hard angles, every part of her thin, straight, sharp. She was an exclamation point that became a comma and then a period._

_Pregnancy did not agree with her, and during those eight months she didn’t agree with anyone else either. Like Summer said, there’s stubborn and then there’s bitchy. Hmm._

_She and Ryan were constantly sniping at each other. It was weird to watch, because Ryan is not the sniping type, exactly. But everything was a point of contention – what Marissa should eat, what she shouldn’t, how she should sit, how she should sleep, where she should go. How much Ryan should be around. How much he should leave her alone. How she could take care of herself. Lines creased Marissa’s narrow forehead and Ryan forgot how to smile. He spent a lot of time at the gym – his facial muscles the only ones he didn’t exercise._

_And then there was the frantic midnight phone call, Ryan at the hospital, cell phone cutting in and out, static mixed with his edgy, strained voice like a bad mash-up. “Not so good…come…please…might not make it…”_

_I remember the “please” best, because Ryan is not a person who pleads. It took me fifteen minutes to get to the hospital. It’s a forty minute drive._

_But when I got there she was already gone. Ryan sat hunched over in a plastic hospital chair, arms around his knees, forehead pressed against his crossed wrists. Not breathing. Not talking._

_I reached out to rub his back. He didn’t stop me but I don’t think he felt it either._

_“There’s a baby,” was the first thing he said, and then flinched like he’d been slapped._

_He didn’t say, “I’m a father.” Maybe I should have known then._

_But I didn’t._

~*~

Summer is brushing her hair with quick, deft strokes when Seth knocks on her bedroom door.

“Cohen!” she exclaims, tossing the brush onto the bed and leaping into his arms, nearly sending both of them toppling onto the plush pink carpet. “You came!”

“Of course I came,” he says, setting her gently onto the ground.

She pouts. “I never know with you, you worker bee. School, job, baby –“

“Sam says hello,” Seth informs her. “So does Josh.”

Summer arches an eyebrow. “Baby said hello?”

“Actually, she said ‘Can you pass along my regards to Mrs. Cooney-Roberts,’ but I thought this was more efficient.”

Summer pushes him.

“She’s working on it, Sum,” he shrugs. “She’s only eighteen months old, you know. She’s still absorbing her surroundings.”

“Whatever, my baby is going to talk when it’s born,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “None of that absorbing crap.”

Seth smothers a laugh. “Can you feel anything yet? Kicking?”

Summer takes his hand and places it on her abdomen, clad in skintight spandex. “You feel anything?”

Summer’s stomach is warm and soft beneath his palm, but still. “Nope.”

“Yeah, it may be a few months yet. Baby is still a peanut.” Summer holds her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “Amazing, huh?”

“You’re amazing,” Seth says.

Summer rolls her eyes. “Why, because I got myself knocked up?”

Seth shakes his head. “Summer, getting pregnant by your husband of two years is hardly getting ‘knocked up.’”

She shrugs and takes his hand, leading him out into the hallway and down the stairs. Summer’s house is – not surprisingly – a palace, five bedrooms, a million bathrooms, wide, spacious hallways, pool in back surrounded by carefully tended green. Seth feels like he’s stepped into _Martha Stewart Living_ , though Summer, thankfully, is partial to tasteful, comfortable furniture and shudders at the thought of decoupage.

She leads him to the kitchen, where she pours him a cup of coffee without being asked and shoves it across the island. Summer is nothing if not a gracious hostess. “I’m trying to cut down,” Seth mutters, while simultaneously taking a sip.

“Cohen, you own a coffee shop,” Summer deadpans. “It’s, like, required that you drink many caffeinated beverages.”

“I’m going there later,” Seth says. “Taylor’s having a crisis.”

“When is Taylor not having a crisis?” Summer asks.

“Good question.” Seth sighs and takes a seat on a stool. “But she keeps the place organized, you know, and I’m hopeless about anything that doesn’t involve decorating or booking bands, so…”

“God, decorating?” Summer pulls up a stool next to him and balances on it primly. “Why on earth did it take me so long to figure out that you were queer?”

“Because I was so good in bed?” Seth guesses.

Summer gives him a Look.

“Because I was so good at hiding it behind my sharp wit?” he tries again.

“Yeah, and then you’d look at Ryan and it’d be blinding,” Summer says, then blinks and turns toward him. “I’m sorry, hon. I didn’t—”

Seth waves it off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like we’re going to go the rest of our lives without ever mentioning his—”

“He’s going to come back,” Summer says definitely.

Seth is silent.

“Well, you will always have me,” she says, slipping an arm around his slender shoulders.

Seth pretends to be weighing options with his hands: “Blessing…curse. Blessing…”

Summer smacks his arm. “See if I ever try to be sweet again.”

Seth pulls her towards him, catching her up in a tight embrace. “Thank you, Sum. It means a lot, you saying that.”

She sighs, a quick burst of breath. “You better go.”

He pulls back. “I’m sorry –“

“No, don’t be sorry, just – here, hold on, I’ll get the stuff.” She slips off the stool and out of the room in one swift motion, then comes back in carrying a big cardboard box. “I can’t believe it’s taken me this long. I think it was one of those things where if I didn’t give her things away then it’d be like she was still here, you know?”

Seth nods, mute. He never knows what to say in response to loss. The losses of others. His own.

“Thank you for doing this,” Summer says. “Cohen, I can’t even…like, you are such an angel to be doing all of this, taking care of Sam, cleaning up Marissa’s stuff—”

“He would have done the same thing for me,” Seth cuts her off. “I know that.”

Summer looks at him, her eyes brown and wet, but says nothing.

“Well.” Seth clears his throat. “Better get going, gotta go put out fires at Atomic County – perhaps real ones, though I think my cell phone might have exploded from excessive incoming calls if that were the case…”

Summer smacks him on the ass. “Go get ‘em, tiger!”

He tips an imaginary hat. “Call me if baby kicks. Immediately. And then put the phone on your stomach so I can talk to it.”

Summer lifts her eyes heavenward. “Yeah, so, _that’s_ not happening…”

Seth smiles and leans in and gives her a peck on the cheek.

She catches his arm in her small hand. “Take care, sweetheart.”

His smile falters, but doesn’t disappear.

“Sure thing,” he murmurs. “You too.”

She lets go.

~*~

_I remember the first time I saw Josh in Atomic County, sitting with his back against the wall, feet curled under him, a book open on his lap and papers spread all over the table in front of him. He looked like he planned to stay a week. He spent four hours reading and sorting through papers and jotting down notes on a legal pad. I couldn’t figure out if he was a law student or a wannabe novelist, but I watched him push strands of his straight black hair behind his ears with his long fingers and crackles of current crawled up my spine, sizzling along each vertebrae._

_When he finally left I found a slip of paper there and was about to run out onto the street to try and find him, but then I flipped it over and saw that he’d written_

Next time, come and sit with me.

_And so I did._

_Falling for Josh was probably the easiest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never been – shall we say – skillful in matters related to the heart. My head is usually so scrambled that I have trouble distinguishing love from indigestion, heartache from overcaffeination._

_But Josh – Josh is one of those people that I knew from the moment I sat down next to him. I understood his process, his approach to life, in a matter of minutes. And it’s not because he’s overly simplistic or easy to figure out – I just knew in the way that doesn’t make sense, that can’t be explained or understood by modern medicine or psychology or all the statistical samples in the world._

_For a few months I thought I had everything figured out – what it is to love someone, to have them love you._

_And then It happened._

_Falling in love with Josh happened quickly, like a sudden immersion in a wild, turbulent ocean, crazy and overwhelming and wonderful, the kind of love people write songs about, the kind I’ve only found before in dreams._

_But falling in love with the miniature person who would become Samantha Alexandra?_

_I’d never had a preview for that in any movie, comic book, fantasy. I could never have been prepared or ready._

_It was instantaneous._

~*~

Josh flicks on the stereo, and Seth, who is stir-frying chicken and vegetables in a wok on their stove, makes a face like he’s just smelled a rat.

 _“I made it through the wilderness,”_ Josh moves his lips in time with the lyrics, _“Somehow I made it through…Didn't know how lost I was…Until I found you…”_

“Dude,” Seth says, shaking his head, “that is too gay even for me. I refuse to tolerate your amateur karaoke to vintage Madonna unless you take off some clothes.”

“Dude,” Josh imitates, unsnapping the top button of his shirt, arching an eyebrow. “I will take off anything you’d like.”

Seth’s eyes lock on Josh as he continues unsnapping buttons, finally shedding his shirt to reveal a slender, toned chest and abdomen with defined muscles. Josh licks his pointer finger and trails it down from his clavicle to his belly button.

Seth licks his lips.

“Better?” Josh asks.

Seth can only nod.

Josh sidles over, his hands traveling around Seth’s waist as Seth attempts to maneuver a spatula with shaking fingers.

“I’m going to burn something,” Seth manages.

“I hope so,” Josh says as he slips one hand inside the front of Seth’s jeans.

“So Madonna is definitely okay, I’ve decided,” Seth groans, his head lolling back against Josh’s shoulder.

“Mmm,” Josh hums against his shoulder, placing gentle kisses up and down the curve of Seth’s neck. His other hand moves upward, sliding under the thin fabric of Seth’s t-shirt and pinching his nipple.

“You’re a very, very bad person,” Seth gasps, dropping the spatula into the wok. The oil hisses and spits.

And then the phone rings.

“Answer it,” Seth says hoarsely. “Please?”

“I do like it when you beg,” Josh murmurs, taking Seth’s hand and trailing his tongue over the surface of his palm. Seth shudders and pushes Josh up against the refrigerator, their lips meeting in a fierce kiss, Seth sucking his tongue into his mouth. Josh tangles his hands in Seth’s hair and Seth shoves his hands into the back pockets of Josh’s jeans, pulling him flush against him.

The phone stops ringing, then immediately starts again.

“Dammit,” Josh mutters, and Seth slams his hand into the fridge door and utters a few curses of his own.

Seth picks up the phone and snaps, “I had the hand of a very hot guy down my pants a second ago, so this better be good.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Seth’s stomach pitches. He imagines that maybe his parents came home early from Santa Barbara and have called to check in, and as close as they are, this is not a moment he wishes to share with them. He was hoping for a phone solicitor. But then the person on the other end clears his throat. “S-seth?”

Seth’s stomach drops again, but for an entirely different reason.

“Ryan,” he says, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Josh’s face fall, his hands settling at his sides. He knows his own expression is a mask, the same one he finds himself wearing every time someone asks him about Ryan Atwood, or every time he thinks about him or tries not to think about him, two completely futile activities.

“I…I thought I should call to…explain?” It’s a question. He wants reinforcement, but Seth’s not quite there yet, not quite ready to be that Seth Cohen, the one always ready to tell Ryan he’s right, no matter what.

“I don’t know if an explanation is needed,” Seth says, hating how cold he sounds but not knowing how to melt the ice in his throat, on the tips of his fingers.

“No, it is needed, but maybe not…not over the phone.” Ryan pauses, then says quickly, “I’m coming home.”

Seth doesn’t know where Ryan is coming from, or what he will bring with him other than memories and a chill. Freezer burn.

“Well,” Seth sighs, “you’ve always known where to find me.”

 

 

  
_i like my body when it is with your_  
body. It is so quite a new thing.  
Muscles better and nerves more.  
i like your body. i like what it does,  
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine  
of your body and its bones, and the trembling  
-firm-smooth ness and which i will  
again and again and again  
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,  
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz  
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes  
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,

_and possibly i like the thrill_

_of under me you quite so new_

_(e.e. cummings)_

_~*~_

_Junior year, UCLA, in the shower stall down the hall from our room, Ryan pushed me up against the smooth tile and we kissed._

_He’d been drinking, I’d been drinking, it was all because of the drinking – except it wasn’t._

_I’d been single for most of college after Summer and I went our separate ways, and I’d had my fair share of drunken makeout sessions. Perhaps more than my fair share. But Ryan, and me, and the shower stall and his hand fisting the fabric of my shirt and my hand pressing fingerprint bruises into his hip bone and his tongue in my mouth – it just wasn’t –_

_There was something desperate about it, something needy, and yeah, maybe you make out like that when you’re drunk, because the inhibitions are gone, the voice in your head that shouts_ What the fuck do you think you’re doing? _at opportune moments, such as when you’re frenching your best friend who has you pinned to a bathroom wall with one hand gliding over your stomach and the other working the zipper of your jeans._

_It could explain everything, the alcohol, but in the end it didn’t matter._

_Because we did it again._

_That night was even more strange – week of finals, second semester junior year, both of us stressing and downing espresso like jello shots and – okay, caffeine doesn’t do that, it doesn’t make people want to make out. But there we were on my bed, hands in each other’s hair and Ryan pressing kisses over my neck and his leg pinned between my thighs and then, whoops, shirts gone and pants half off and Ryan, red-faced, struggling for air, rolls off the bed and puts up his hands, very,_ I don’t know what you’re talking about, officer, I’ve never seen this man, _and turns on his heel mumbling something about Marissa, something about this not happening, definitely not happening, and then…_

_…then he was gone, didn’t come back until two days later when I was asleep. Didn’t look me in the eye for weeks._

_It happened after that, too, without caffeine, without alcohol. Never without guilt. It happened after Ryan got back together with Marissa. It happened after graduation. It happened on our post-graduation trip to Europe, it happened in Vegas one weekend we took off on a whim, it happened in the Rover on the side of the road ninety miles from anywhere on the way to Summer’s wedding, it happened once in Atomic County in the back store room next to the coffee canisters the night we opened._

_Ryan thought no one knew, that our secret was safe, but looking back I think everyone knew. Everyone knew because I’d walk into a room and immediately zero in on him like a laser gun sight, because he blushed when I officially came out one Christmas, because we were obvious in the way anyone is obvious when they’re in love._

_Obvious to everyone else but each other._

~*~

“Taylor, really,” Seth says, “how can you not like Trader Joe’s? You’re a Californian. That’s a betrayal of your state.”

“It’s confusing, all the organic this and that – I never know what to get. The labels have a billion things on them, and I – “

“As opposed to the grocery store, where you only have one option for everything?” Josh asks, quirking an eyebrow. He shifts a sleepy Sam from one knee to another as she curls up against his chest, making soft contented sounds.

Taylor clasps her hands together, her expression one of confusion. “I – I just don’t know –“

“We’re teasing, Taylor, don’t have an aneurism,” Josh says, squeezing her shoulder.

“Show me the money, beeyotch!” Seth exclaims, flipping open the accounts book.

“Seth!” Taylor inclines her head towards the baby. “You shouldn’t –“

“We’ve decided Sam’s going to be the female Quentin Tarantino,” Seth divulges. “Don’t tell anyone – it’s a secret.”

Taylor looks horrified.

“I thought we agreed she’d be the next Scorcese,” Josh inserts. “You know, with the NYC flavor.”

“What flavor is that, exactly?” Seth throws back. “Exhaust fumes and a general hatred for humanity?”

Josh rolls his eyes. “Taylor,” he addresses her, “as the only sane person at this table, might I interest you in holding Samantha?”

Taylor blushes furiously, stuttering, “Well, I could – I guess I –“

“What Josh is really asking you,” Seth whispers, “is if you’d like to take a trial run at babysitting, since we were going to ask if you could watch her tonight so we could have a little time together.”

“You – and Josh?” Taylor’s eyebrows jump into her hair, and her blush deepens. “Because you want to—” She threads her fingers together.

Seth wonders if she’s going to show them the steeple.

“Make sweet sweet love?” Seth completes, enjoying how she begins to blink as if she’s got an eyelash in her eye.

Taylor is almost purple.

“For god sakes, Seth, stop torturing her,” Josh chuckles.

Taylor is looking over Seth’s shoulder. “Maybe you don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, we _need_ a babysitter—” Seth leers.

“Hello, Ryan,” Taylor murmurs.

Everything stops. Time. Conversation. Seth’s heart.

It’s been long enough since he’s seen Ryan that the edges of his mental pictures have started to blur. He doesn’t remember every detail like he used to, the curve of his cheekbone and the line of his chin and the length of his sideburns and the exact shade and texture of his hair. Seth wishes he could say he notices these things because he’s an art student but that would be a lie, a fiction, contrivance.

Ryan looks tired. Tired, spent, done, finished. His eyes are the grey-blue of a frosty winter morning and he can’t seem to keep his gaze steady, looking everywhere and nowhere.

And then at Sam.

Ryan clenches his hand into a fist and Seth can see his chest tighten, the cotton of his t-shirt not enough to mask the fact that he’s holding his breath.

No one knows what to say, so it’s a good thing that Seth always has something inane to contribute. “Ryan,” he says, “welcome back.”

Not home. Not yet. Because Seth isn’t sure this is still home for Ryan – this state, these people, these skies beaches water weather world.

And he’s not sure he knows how to make it a home. They’re twenty-seven years old. Home is about a lot more than new clothes, fresh sheets, furniture and video games on a Saturday afternoon.

~*~

_Comparing lovers is always a bad idea, I’ve decided. But it doesn’t mean I don’t do it._

_Can I really say Ryan was the first guy I ever fell in love with in the gay way? Yes, probably. But it was a strange, stilted, frustrated sort of love, like being interrupted in the middle of a sentence and never getting to finish. Not only because he left, but because every encounter was just that – separate, a beginning without an end, a climax but no resolution. We were always getting started, revving up, but never easing into a comfortable gear._

_There was one night – one night – when we actually fell asleep together, so exhausted neither of us could be persuaded to go elsewhere. I woke up in the early morning with Ryan’s arm slung around my waist, his heartbeat echoing up my spine._

_I remember thinking,_ I could do this. We could do this. _And my breathing slowed and I fell back to sleep and dreamt of sunsets and catching fireflies in glass jars on summer afternoons._

_I woke up alone, feeling the impression of his arm in my hip, grooving out to the rhythm of his heartbeat._

_I’m not with Josh because he’s steady and loyal and loving. Not even because he agreed to move in with me and help take care of a child he had no obligation to raise. Not because he’s open and out and okay with it and because he made me okay with it, helped me to come to terms with what makes my skin prickle and my head swim. Not because he makes me dizzy when he sends his fingers tripping down my spine or because his tongue has subjugated me to his will or because he’s smart and sweet and one day he wants us to write a children’s book together, he’ll write it and I’ll do the illustrations, and the main character will be named Samantha._

_I’m with Josh because I know we can do this. Because we’re doing it. Because I can relax in his arms at night and know I’ll wake up with his hand still clasping mine._

_It’s taken a long time for me to get here, to this level plateau._

_Maybe Ryan was right to do what he did. Maybe the best gift he ever gave me was letting me go._

~*~

Taylor and Josh and Samantha seem to dissolve into the wood panelling of the coffee-scented walls, Taylor off to balance the books, Josh to put Samantha down in her crib in Seth’s office in back. Ryan’s eyes flick up and settle on the door to the storage room as Josh disappears into it. Seth knows what he’s thinking in the way he always knows what Ryan is thinking – except this time he knows because he’s thinking the same thing, his mind repeating the same memory like a scratched record, grooves worn down by the repeated pressure of the needle.

_I know what your fingernails feel like on the ridges of my hip bones. I’ve seen every part of you. I remember because I can’t forget._

“Let’s get out of here,” Seth murmurs.

Ryan doesn’t protest.

~*~

_I wasn’t always so…okay with this whole liking guys thing. Even after Ryan (though when has it really been “after Ryan?”) I couldn’t quite process it, let it sink into my skin that this is who I am, that it’s not a phase I’m going to grow out of, collegiate experimentation._

_I can appreciate the beauty and pure, unadulterated chutzpah that is Summer Roberts, but I can never appreciate it enough. Enough to love her with every nerve ending and blood cell, bone marrow and muscle tissue. I would do anything for Summer, but I can never be what she needs, and she can never be what I want._

_The first time Josh touched me like that – in the way that can never be perceived as platonic or innocent – I was trembling so violently my teeth were chattering. He kissed the tender spot right under my chin and traced circles over my cheekbones and whispered against my skin, “Don’t think, Seth. Don’t…”_

_Telling me, Seth Cohen, not to think about something as mind-blowing as having another guy’s hand down my pants and **liking it** is sort of like telling a penguin not to walk funny. _

_But then he sealed the deal._

_“This is the only thing in your life that will ever be easy,” he said softly. “Let it be easy.”_

_And just like that, Ryan Atwood wasn’t in the room anymore._

_He hasn’t been in the room with me since._

_Until now._

~*~

Seth trips over a stuffed teddy bear and falls gracelessly onto the couch in his apartment. “Well. Yes. That was special.”

Ryan is staring at him like he’s got something gross on his cheek, or maybe like he’s bleeding. It makes Seth want to cover up every inch of his body with thick, black cloth, flannel, something heavy and coarse and unsexy.

But being in the same room with Ryan also makes Seth want to take everything off, to stand in front of him and shiver and ask the question he never could.

_Is this what you want?_

“Seth – I—” Ryan clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Seth picks at the lint on the couch.

“I don’t…know. I don’t know. Everything.”

“Everything?”

Ryan’s eyes are pink at the edges. “I can’t explain…what I did…how I left, it was just – everything I hate about other people, that’s what I did. I’m that person, Seth, I—”

“What are you talking about?” Seth cuts him off. “Your girlfriend died, man! Your _pregnant_ girlfriend. And it’s not like you’ve had the best life ever up until this point, so you get this – this is your chance to be a flake, okay? To run out like—”

“I was so scared that I…all the stress I put her under.” Ryan is struggling for words, each one wrenched from somewhere deep inside him. “All the fighting we did, how unhappy she was, and she was so weak – I think maybe I…it’s my…”

“Don’t you dare say fault,” Seth says, his voice firm and stubborn. Ryan looks up at him, surprised. “It is not your fault Marissa died.”

“She…knew about us,” Ryan whispers. “She knew, but I didn’t tell her.”

Seth waits and watches him, unfolding, reaching. This is what he’s learned, in Ryan’s absence – how to be the one who listens. When you have a baby, you learn it quickly. You have to. A baby can’t tell you what it wants. You have to figure it out. Being a father is being a cryptographer, a translator.

“She said to me – it was only a few nights before she went into labor – she said, ‘I don’t get it, Ryan, why are we together – you’ll never love me like you love him, it doesn’t—‘”

Ryan sighs and stops.

“Make sense,” Seth finishes. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“So I do the right thing, right? I run away like a pussy. I leave you here, with a _baby_ , for fuck’s sake, and I just…I just…leave…you…” Ryan’s voice gets softer with every syllable, like the sound is trying to jump back down his throat, shelter itself from the big scary world in the safety of his lungs.

“Ryan, we both know you’ve been leaving me for years,” Seth says. “The difference this time was you weren’t just leaving.” He exhales, plays with the bracelet on his wrist. “You _left_.”

Ryan sits down on a frayed chair a few feet away.

“Apologies are kind of useless,” Seth continues. “This is what I’ve figured out. I don’t know what works, exactly, but – I know there’s no way I can forget you, block you out, make you disappear. And there were times when I wanted to, because I was angry and bitchy and I wanted everything to work out like it does in the movies, boy loves boy, boy gets boy, but…” He pushes his hair out of his eyes and blinks. His jaw hurts. “It means something, the leaving, Ryan. I don’t know what it means, but –“

“What about her? Samantha?” Ryan whispers. “What happens now?”

“Well, I’ve officially adopted her,” Seth says. “But you say the word, and I’ll find the right place to sign.”

His throat feels dry and chalky, bitter. A bitter pill. He knows, now, what that means.

Ryan sits there, hands on his knees, staring straight ahead, not blinking, not moving.

“You can take your time to decide,” Seth says. “But I’d like a decision, if possible.” He stands up. “I think it’s time.”

”Seth,” Ryan breathes, “there’s something else.”

Seth feels pricks of pain at his temples. “Something else?”

“I’m positive,” Ryan whispers.

“Positive about what?” Seth asks.

“Not that kind of positive,” Ryan murmurs.

Without Ryan, Seth’s world has been cracked, missing fragments.

But with him it’s exploded. The remains are microscopic, invisible to the naked eye, but Seth thinks his heart has just been pierced by broken glass.

 

  
_here is the deepest secret nobody knows_  
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows  
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

_i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)_

_(e. e. cummings)_

_This is the Hour of Lead –_  
Remembered, if outlived,  
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –  
First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

_(Emily Dickinson)_

_You think: this will never happen to me. This only happens in the movies. This only happens to other people._

_And then your life tosses you into a situation that you have no point of reference for, and you reel and trip and fall down and scrape your knees and break bones._

_You think: this will never happen to me._

_Then it does._

~*~

When Josh slips into the room around three a.m. Seth is lying in the dark, awake, tracing the ceiling with heavy eyes.

“Hey, babe,” Josh whispers, leaning over him to press a close-mouthed kiss against his lips.

Before Seth knows what he’s doing he’s pulled Josh down next to him on the bed and he’s probing his mouth open with his tongue, hands grabbing at his ass, yanking him forward violently, their hips meeting with an audible crack. Josh smells like smoke and spilled whisky and sweat, and Seth can’t wait to have him out of these clothes. Josh moans softly, his fingers threading through Seth’s hair, and Seth sets to work unfastening his black dress pants.

“Wait,” Josh says suddenly, pressing his palm against Seth’s chest. He’s breathing with difficulty, his brown eyes wild in the dark, passionate and scared. “Seth, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you’re still wearing these,” Seth murmurs, grasping at Josh through his half-open pants. Josh thrusts up into his hand, a reflex, but he doesn’t move his hand from Seth’s chest. He grabs Seth’s shoulder with the other hand, squeezing.

“Seth, really, _stop_ ,” Josh says. “Don’t do this. Talk to me, okay?”

Seth says nothing. He takes in deep breaths, feeling air stream in and out of his lungs.

“Sam is with Taylor,” Josh says. “I dropped them off at Taylor’s after the bar called me to sub – Seth, please, you’re scaring me.”

 _I’m scaring me,_ Seth thinks.

“It’s Ryan, isn’t it?” Josh asks. His fingernails are digging into Seth’s shoulder. “Is something…is it just seeing him, because I can understand – “

Seth feels something loosen inside, membrane breaking free of tissue, and then he’s shaking and coughing and coughing and sobbing and Josh wraps his arms tightly around him, pulling him close. “Babe, don’t – don’t—” Josh says, but then stops. “No, do what you need to do,” Josh says softly. “And tell me when you’re ready.”

Seth will never be ready. He knows this. But he’ll tell him, because sometimes that’s what you do – run a business, raise a child, love someone – before you’re ready.

Get sick. Be sick. Live with being sick.

_“I…can’t do this. I can’t.” Ryan, eyes infused with hurt and weighed down with sleep and grief, standing next to Seth, hands stuffed into the pockets of his stonewashed jeans, staring through the glass windows of the hospital nursery._

_Seth reaching out to touch him, hug him, maybe for Ryan’s benefit, maybe for his own._ You’re still here, Ryan. You’re still here with me.

_Seth reaching out. Ryan walking away._

__

~*~

_“How long…” I whispered, trying to ignore the jabbing pain in my chest, persistent and sharp._

_“Three months,” he said, and I clenched my hand into a fist, cracking my knuckles. “Things were…pretty wild sometimes. I was bartending out in Vegas for awhile, making decent money, and there were…a lot of girls, a few guys, I…” Ryan cleared his throat. “I don’t know what I was doing, Seth. It was – like I couldn’t stop, I –“_

_“I know how it was, Ryan,” I said, straining to keep my voice even. “Sex makes you feel alive, right? It’s action, it’s doing something, and it’s real and physical. I know how it was because I know you.”_

_“But you – “ Ryan started to protest._

_“And, in case you forgot,” I plowed on, “you did it to me too.”_

_“Seth, it wasn’t like that with us – “_

_“Really?” I felt anger claw at my lungs. “You didn’t come to me every time you were scared, numb? To feel something? To feel something with someone you knew felt something for you?”_

_Ryan was silent, staring at the floor like he thought he could stare through it._

_“I don’t think it’s wrong, exactly,” I murmured. “I just wish I’d known – then. I wish…”_

_“I wish a lot of things, Seth,” Ryan said roughly. “I wish I’d never gotten Marissa pregnant. I wish I never left. I wish I never slept with a man when I was drunk and he was fucked up on something that I didn’t serve him. I wish when I got his clothes off and saw the marks on his arms that I’d pushed him away.” Ryan took in a ragged breath. “I wish I’d told you sooner. And now I wish I’d never told you at all.”_

_“You know you didn’t have it before, when you were—”_

_“With Marissa?” Ryan placed his palm flat over the arm of the chair. His hand was shaking. “No. Marissa and I didn’t sleep together during the pregnancy, things were…tense between us, and…the only other person I…”_

_He stopped._

~*~

“Cohen?”

Seth feels like his eyelids are glued together with sandpaper, rough and gristly coating his eyeballs.

Summer is standing over his bed and peering down at him. “You look like hell,” she informs him.

Seth groans and turns over, burying his face in his pillow.

“No, no, no, no,” Summer says, tugging on his arm. “You’re getting up, Cohen, because at the very least you need to explain to me why I’m here.”

Seth rolls over on his side. “Why you’re here?” His voice is hoarse.

He remembers crying, and more crying, and some crying after that.

“Yeah, you need to explain why Josh called me at seven a.m. this morning and asked if I could come over so I’d be here when you wake up, because he didn’t want you to be alone. He has a brunch thing today, catering, whatever, so he couldn’t stay…” Summer trails off, her eyes softening as she searches his red-edged eyes with her own. “Seriously, what’s wrong, hon?”

Seth coughs, making a nasty hacking sound, and Summer wrinkles her nose. “Are you sick?” Summer asks.

_Are you sick?_

_Not that kind of positive._

_I wish a lot of things, Seth._

“No, I’m…not sick, I’m just tired. Summer, don’t worry about it, I’m sure you have better things to do—”

Summer sits down on the bed next to him, clasping her hands loosely around his wrist, fingering the bracelet he always wears. She gave it to him years ago, after they broke up for the last time – it was left over from some disastrous summer camp experience Summer had when she was ten. Her parents sent her away for the summer, and according to her, the camp counselors forced them to make friendship bracelets night and day, despite the fact Summer didn’t _make_ friends with any of the overprivileged brats “roughing it” along with her. “It’s yours, Cohen,” she told him, “because you’re so fruity you’ll probably wear it, and because you’ll always be my friend, whatever I may tell you when I’m pissed.”

“Cohen,” she says, “you’re freaking me out. Tell me what’s wrong or I’ll punch you.”

“Just like you, Summer, always resorting to violence,” Seth says weakly.

“So don’t make me resort to it,” she retorts.

The words fall off his tongue, tiny cliffdivers. “Ryan’s sick.”

Summer looks puzzled. “Sick? Like with the flu or what, Cohen? I don’t—”

“Sick in the way you get,” Seth says wearily, “when you’re young and have no other reason to be sick.” Summer still looks mystified. “The _Rent_ sort of sick, Summer.”

The realization dawns on Summer’s face. “Ryan – he – “

“Yes,” Seth mumbles, and Summer’s fingers grasp his wrist more tightly, pressing into his pulse point.

“Sweetheart…” she whispers.

“You don’t have to – stay, Sum, I know—”

“Cohen, are you certifiably insane?” Summer asks, her voice high and tight. “I’m not going anywhere.” She sighs. “Ever, honey. I’m not ever going anywhere.”

~*~

_Sometimes I think everything would be better if we’d just stayed fifteen forever. Playing GTA in my parent’s living room, his knee pressed against mine, his lips wrapped around a spoon, wrist enclosed in the Chino cuff of brooding, insolent defensive glint in his eye._

_Stopping time, permanent childhood – it’s one of those stupid dreams you have when you’re fourteen and lonely, like wanting to sail to Tahiti or Turks and Caicos and never come back. Crushing on the prettiest girl in your class, memorizing her poetry and class schedule even though you know she’ll never notice you. Wanting to be Spider-man because he can fly, sort of, and even though nobody ever likes or appreciates him it doesn’t matter, because when the world treats him like shit he’s always got somewhere to go and someone to save._

_I named my coffee shop Atomic County. I sketch nude models in class and spend hours poring over fancypants art history books that weigh more than I do, but some nights I can’t sleep and I go into the kitchen and pour a bowl of cereal, dry, and draw Kid Chino and The Ironist and Little Miss Vixen on the backs of envelopes because you are what you are, and you are what you’ve been._

_“Ryan,” I asked, “What do we do now?”_

_Ryan exhaled heavily, but said nothing._

_“Dude,” I said, voice trembling, “you know I love you, right? Like, always, forever, etcetera?”_

_Ryan looked up, cerulean eyes glistening in low light._

_“Well,” I murmured, “you damn well should.”_

~*~

“Wow, who knew watching MTV Classics could be so demoralizing?”

Summer sighs. “Pass the Cheetos, Cohen. And while you’re at it, change to something that doesn’t involve any pop princesses, okay? It was bad enough the first time around.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t want to be Christina Aguilera when you were in high school?” Seth arches an eyebrow.

“About as much as you wanted to be Britney Spears,” Summer bites back.

“Simmer down, kids,” a deep voice comes from behind them. A tall, broad man with light brown hair and pearly green eyes appears, stepping in front of the television. “What are you doing, honey?”

Summer stretches out her legs and gives her husband a steady look. “I think the answer to that question is pretty obvious, pumpkin.”

“I’m guessing this had something to do with the rather early phone call you received this morning?”

“You guess correctly, Mikey,” Summer says.

Michael leans down to brush a kiss over his wife’s lips. “You alright, Seth?” he asks.

“Fine. I’m fine,” Seth says, uncurling his body and sitting up. “You?”

“Well, not lying in the fetal position on a work day, so I’d say pretty good.” Michael grins.

“I’m not in the fetal position anymore,” Seth says defensively.

“Seth, don’t say ‘fetal,’” Summer snaps.

“Hey, hey, quiet down, rowdy ones!” a voice comes from the doorway. Seth turns to see Josh standing there, cradling Samantha, whose eyelids are drooping. “You’ll freak her out, and she’s just woken up from a nap.”

For a few precious minutes it was high school all over again: he and Summer making fun of pop culture contrivance and bad music, disagreeing about everything, eating junk food, exchanging insults and playful banter.

But the future, shaky as a camera without a tripod and twisted and entangled with the strangling wires of the past, has just entered the room.

Seth has lost his balance all over again.

~*~

_Senior year in college, I accidentally picked up the phone in our apartment when Ryan was on the line with his dad. John Atwood had been released from prison only weeks before, but he was already hitting Ryan up for cash. I could hear him muttering into the phone, something incoherent about how the world was for shit and maybe he’d be better off in the slammer – at least then he knew where his next meal was coming from, crappy as it was._

_I should have hung up, but curiosity grabbed me by the collar and I was paralyzed, fused to the portable receiver. I held my breath._

_“You and those Cohen people,” he said, “it’s all on the up and up with them, yeah?”_

_“What do you mean?” Ryan sounded strained, tension pulling at his vocal chords._

_“Like they’ve never asked you – the Cohen boy, whassiname, Sam – to do anything you didn’t want to? All the hospitality – nothing’s free—”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_“I’m saying you don’t have to do it if they want you to. Anything – strange or wrong, you aren’t obligated, you’re not some hustler—”_

_“It’s not like that.” Ryan’s tone was pure ice, fresh from the freezer tray._

_“I’m just saying, you talk about this Sam kid—”_

_“Seth,” Ryan murmured, but his dad plowed on._

_“—and he sounds like he’s queer on you.”_

_There was a pause, and I almost hung up, but some masochistic, self-hating part of myself wanted to hear what he’d say, whether Ryan would defend me or come clean or fight back, do something. “A lot of those rich boys are fags,” his father continued when Ryan didn’t say anything. “Money does strange things to people, it—”_

_A sharp intake of breath – Ryan. A quiet exhale – me. Then a click._

_“People never give you something without wanting something back,” John Atwood continued, unaware his son had hung up. “It’s how the world works. S’fucked up, really—”_

_I put down the phone._

_Was that what this was? Ryan repaying a favor? A little sucking and fucking on the side because my dad had given him a get-out-of-jail-free card? Because we’d taken him in, tried to make him one of us?_

_A few minutes later I padded into the living room to find Ryan curled up on the couch, watching Oprah._

_“That your dad?” I asked._

_Ryan nodded. When he looked up at me his eyes were pricked with red, like he’d been crying, or trying not to. Then he turned away, staring straight ahead._

_“What’d he have to say?” I prodded._

_“Nothing,” Ryan mumbled, and turned up the volume on the TV._

~*~

The second after he says it, Seth wishes he could take it back.

Josh’s eyes narrow and he pales to the color of milled soap. He looks like he’s been draped in tracing paper. His chest rises and falls rapidly and his hands begin to tremble.

Then he turns and walks out onto their narrow balcony. It’s breezy and cool for L.A. Seth shivers.

Josh pulls out a cigarette and lights it with a flick of his wrist.

“I thought you quit,” Seth says.

“I did,” Josh mutters. “I think this is deserving of a relapse.” He sighs out a cloud of smoke. “Andy gave this to me today. Said he thought I might need it.” He shakes his head. “Ex is in town? You never know.” He closes his eyes. “You never know.”

The silence that follows makes Seth feel as if he’s drowning. He sucks in a breath. “Say something,” he pleads.

“Samantha,” Josh says. “What happens to her?”

“I don’t know yet.” Seth can feel the tightness in the back of his throat. Suddenly it dawns on him just how much he stands to lose.

He wants to say to Josh, _I understand. I get it._

But he doesn’t.

Because he doesn’t.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Seth says.

“I think I knew that,” Josh replies, dark eyes flitting up to meet Seth’s. “The question is, will he?”

~*~

_Well, if you need anything, I'll take the graveyard shift._

_I think we'll manage._

_I was afraid you'd say that._

~*~

“I don’t know,” Seth whispers. “I’m sorry, I—”

“I don’t want to be some punchline,” Josh grits from between clenched teeth. “I’ll stay with you until your dying day, you know that, Seth, but I can’t—”

“We talked last night…for a long time, and he knows…I think he…” Seth stutters.

“I have no doubt he knows how much we mean to each other,” Josh says. “I’m not sure he knows how much he meant to you.” Josh sighs and paws through his dark hair, tousled by the afternoon breeze. “Means to you.”

“It’s not like that,” Seth says.

_Seth, it wasn’t like that with us –_

_…sounds like he’s queer on you._

“For god sakes, babe, you are raising his child,” Josh intones. “Don’t bullshit me, okay? I know you love him. It’s okay that you love him. I can’t deny you your feelings for someone who…” He braces himself against the balcony, taking in a lungful of air. “I need to know where I stand. I need to know where _she_ –“ he gestures towards the living room “—stands.”

“I want him to feel like he has somewhere he can come when he needs to,” Seth mumbles.

He can’t look into Josh’s eyes. He knows he’ll crumble.

“If that’s what he wants, he’ll always have somewhere to stay, to come, to be,” Josh says. “I’m not cruel, okay?”

Seth reaches out with one hand on impulse and grasps Josh’s hand. “I know you’re not cruel, Josh. You are so far from—”

“I love you,” Josh says, and it sounds desperate. It translates as _do something know something be with me please._

Seth pulls Josh forward, their bodies aligning and pressing together. Josh smells like smoke and baby powder. “I love you,” Seth murmurs against his cheek. He can feel him shaking.

Tremors and tears.

“Seth?”

He didn’t even hear the sliding door squeak open. Ryan stands there, holding Samantha in his arms. She’s crying, her face tight and red. Ryan looks flushed, too, and he’s holding her as if she’s made of porcelain and eggshells.

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

_There’s a baby._

“Here,” Josh says softly, moving away from Seth and stretching out his arms. “I’ll take her.” Ryan places the baby into Josh’s arms, and Josh shifts so her head is supported against his arm. “Looks like she needs to be changed,” Josh says. Ryan steps out of the doorway to allow Josh through. “I’ll be back,” Josh says, and disappears into the apartment.

Ryan places his hands on the balcony and looks over the side. “High,” he says, then coughs.

“Yeah,” Seth mutters.

“I think I fucked everything up,” Ryan says in that measured way of his, the same way he’d say, _You’re crazy, Seth._

 _You may be right, I may be crazy,_ Seth would volley back. _But it just might be a lunatic you’re looking for._

“The Middle East,” Seth says. “I don’t think that’s totally your fault, dude.”

Ryan’s mouth twitches, and his hands tighten on the balcony railing.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers.

“Of course she is,” Seth says. “She’s yours.”

Ryan clenches his jaw. Seth can see his knuckles turning white.

“So, Mr. Vegas bartender,” Seth ventures, “when do you make me a drink? I think I need one.”

“I knew it was only a matter of time,” Ryan says, his lips curving into a memory of a smile.

“Yeah, funny thing,” Seth says, and claps him on the shoulder. “So did I.”

 

 

__

And let me talk to you with your silence  
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.  
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.  
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

_I like for you to be still: it is though you were absent,_  
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.  
One word then, one smile, is enough.  
And I am happy, happy that it’s not true.

_(Pablo Neruda)_

 

2021 – Five years later

_I don’t think I’ve ever actually held his hand._

_It’s so strange. All the ways we’ve touched. All the ways I’ve imagined touching him. And yet here we are, fingers threaded together, a tapestry of digits. His hand is cold. Mine is warm._

_He’s still Ryan, still beautiful: eyes prism blue, square jaw, hair not quite blonde not quite brown, cheekbones smooth and angled. He sparkles when he smiles, a toothpaste commercial and a razor ad rolled into one._

_But he doesn’t smile much. He’s not smiling now._

_“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him._

_He shrugs._

_“Do you know something?” I say. “I’m going to sit here until you get better.”_

_“Seth –“_

_“So make it quick. I’m teaching a class at three.”_

_He smirks._

_I brush hair out of his eyes. “Once in five years – it’s not bad, really.”_

_“One time is all it takes,” he murmurs._

_“Well, if you die I’m going to be up there in hunk heaven, or wherever it is pretty boys go, in some incarnation, like a previous life or something, previous death, whatever, and I’m going to wake you up with stupid questions about my love life and make you play video games and introduce you to people you can punch.” I nod, satisfied. “Yes. Because that’s what friends are for.”_

_“And this is heaven?” he asks. His voice is still hoarse, but there’s laughter in it, pushing out toxins, letting in air. “Not hell?”_

_I poke him in the shoulder._

_“You don’t have to be here, you know,” he says. “Shouldn’t you be picking out floral arrangements or something?”_

_I lift my eyes skyward. “Josh can take care of it.”_

_He arches an eyebrow._

_“I’m spent on this whole wedding thing,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Done. I give up. Summer has officially killed it for me. She and Taylor. You’d think she didn’t already have the biggest wedding the world has ever seen. She seems to have mistaken Josh and I for Charles and Diana.”_

_He snorts._

_“I’m just saying – there is no need for an orchestra and a seven-course reception dinner. And a reception after-party. And an after party after party.” I trace circles into the metal arm of the hospital bed. “It’s extreme, right?”_

_“Well, you know Newport,” he says, and a smile flickers across his lips, then vanishes. “They do like their parties.”_

_I want to say I don’t feel like celebrating. But then he squeezes my fingers in his palm and I know he knows._

~*~

“Hey, Sammy, darling?” Seth pries her fingers off a bouquet of flowers. “Let’s try not to eat the foliage until after the ceremony, huh?”

“Seff,” she says, “what are dose?”

“Uh, ask Josh. I know nothing about plants.”

“Hydrangeas,” a voice comes from the hallway. “That’s what they are.”

“Joss,” Sam says excitedly, following his voice and disappearing around a corner. “What are dose?”

“White roses.” A pause. “Aw, hon, don’t eat those either. They don’t taste nearly as good as you think they will.”

“Omigod, Cohen,” Summer appears, startling Seth, who is thoroughly immersed in trying to tie his bow tie. “You look totally fuckable.”

“Who looks totally fuckable?” Josh peers around the door. A sly smile curves his lips. “Why, yes you do.”

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be seeing each other,” Summer snaps.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Summer, there are a few things that make our wedding different from the traditional,” Josh says.

As if on cue, Sam appears, looking up at Summer with bluebell eyes.

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Seth says, letting his eyes drift over Josh’s tux. “How come you get to wear the black shirt?” he asks.

Josh licks his lips, then places one hand on Seth’s chest. “Because I’m dirtier than you are.”

“That doesn’t make any—” Seth is cut off when Josh slides his tongue into his mouth, their bodies colliding as Josh shoves him into the wall.

Josh skims his hand down over Seth’s chest, and Seth’s breath hitches. Josh bites his lip and Seth hisses.

“Oh, my,” an alarmed voice comes from behind them. “Oh, _my._ ”

Summer tugs at the back of Josh’s jacket, forcing the two of them apart. “For god sakes, you two, don’t undress each other yet. We’ve just gotten you dressed.”

Taylor is holding one hand in front of her mouth, eyes wide. “Oh, my.”

“And Taylor, stop drooling all over your dress. It’s not flattering,” Summer tells her.

Taylor’s eyes narrow. “No need to be so snippy,” she bristles.

Behind them, someone clears his throat.

“What is this, fucking Grand Central Station?” Summer rants.

Ryan is standing there, fiddling with the collar of his white dress shirt.

“Ryan!” Seth gasps. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be—”

“I know where I’m supposed to be,” Ryan murmurs, “but I’m not.”

Seth doesn’t know what to say.

“Come here, man,” Ryan says roughly, pulling him into a tight embrace. Seth exhales and tries not to cry.

“Are you okay?” Seth asks.

Ryan shrugs. He is pale and thin, but his eyes glitter with quiet intensity. “Sure,” he says, “and I heard you might be in need of a best man.”

~*~

_It was hard telling my parents._

_No, hard isn’t the right word. There is no right word to describe how it felt to see my mom’s face light up when Ryan walked into the kitchen only to see her crumple a few minutes later. She was an accordion, compressing and releasing, rising and falling._

_My dad looked like he wanted to cry, and he couldn’t say anything for a few minutes. He sat very still. Then he paced. Then he pulled Ryan into a hug and wouldn’t let him go for ten minutes even as Ryan apologized over and over again, his shoulders shaking with smothered sobs._

_Later that night I took him back to his hotel and we sat in the car for a long time in silence. Then he said, “You shouldn’t have to deal with all this shit, Seth.”_

_“Neither should you,” I shot back._

_“I brought it on myself. I made some stupid decisions. Your only stupid decision was being my friend.”_

_“I happen to think that was a case of excellent judgment, Ryan,” I said._

_Ryan looked dubious._

_“Dude, do you have any idea how many times I would have gotten my ass kicked in high school if you hadn’t been around?” I asked. “I would put an estimate in the – oh, high twenties.”_

_That was when Ryan leaned forward and kissed me, his hands pressing against my cheeks. It wasn’t long or lingering but there was something passionate about it anyway, passionate enough to make me feel guilty. For the first time, I pulled away._

_“A lot of regrets,” Ryan whispered, and I noticed he was short of breath. “But you’re my biggest, Seth.” He sighed, curling one hand into a fist in his lap. “You’re my biggest.”_

~*~

“Breathe, Cohen,” Summer says, elbowing Seth in the ribs. He coughs and brushes invisible lint off his pants.

Josh lifts an eyebrow, and Seth feels warmth flush his cheeks. A smile nudges at the corner of Josh’s mouth, and when Seth catches his eye he winks.

“We are gathered here today…” the justice-of-the-peace begins, but Seth is already drifting.

_He was nineteen, having problems with Summer again. He prattled on, words tumbling out of his mouth, rushing water from a uprooted fire hydrant. “I mean, dude, how do you know, you know? Like, I think I love her but – it’s—”_

_Ryan cocked his head to one side, blue eyes sliding across Seth’s face. Their gaze locked. “You just know.”_

“Seth?”

Seth blinks, focusing his eyes on Josh. “I want to be with you for the rest of our lives,” Josh says softly. “That’s it. I know it. It’s what I want, and what I need, and what I’m offering.”

He opens his palm to reveal a thin silver band, plain but elegant.

“I want to be with you too,” Seth whispers, “for the rest of my life.”

When Josh grasps his hand it’s a familiar grip, his palms cool and clammy with sweat. Josh shows nerves nowhere else but in his hands. His face is calm and implacable, but when Seth slides the ring onto his finger he can feel him shaking.

“I love you,” Seth says.

Josh’s response is a kiss, smooth as seashells worn down by sand and wind and salt water.

~*~

_“Marissa’s pregnant.”_

_His words were carving knives, slicing through flesh, tendon, bone, organ. I had nothing to say. There was nothing to say._

_“We never…” I started. I inhaled, let out a ragged breath. “We never talk about it.”_

_“Talk about it?” Ryan’s hands were shaking, I noticed – tiny tremors that made his coffee cup clatter on the kitchen counter when he set it down._

_“Talk about it, Ryan. You know what I’m saying.”_

_“So say it.” His eyes were baiting me._

_I wanted to run, to go and lock myself in a room with four walls and no windows, to feel protected and alone and safe from the way his eyes undressed me, stripped me of all my secrets and pretensions. “The…sex, Ryan, we never talk about the—”_

_Suddenly he was pressed against me, the ridges of the freezer door digging into my shoulder blades. His hands were under my shirt and his lips were trailing along my jaw and I was not interested in talking. I was the Little Mermaid and the only sounds I needed were the sounds we made together._

_We kissed, his lips sliding against mine, tongue probing my mouth open, dancing against my teeth._

_“You talk so much, Seth,” he said when we separated to catch our breath. “You ever get tired of talking?”_

Not to you, _I thought._ Never to you.

_And that was when I realized the difference between us._

_I didn’t know how to say it._

_Ryan couldn’t._

~*~

In the limo on the way to the reception, Summer grasps Seth’s arm and murmurs in his ear, “If it helps, you made the right choice.”

Seth believes her because he knows it’s true.

~*~

_Being a father is: learning all the words to “Baby Beluga.” Shopping for dresses. Finally understanding the meaning of “Isn’t She Lovely.” Dancing in the living room with tiny feet pressing into your shoes. An appreciation for calm and quiet. The presence of neither. Lack of sleep. Realizing on the first day of daycare that you’re the one who doesn’t want to let go of her hand. Baby Tylenol, cough syrup, thermometers (for her), hypertension and stomach aches (for you). An inexplicable hatred for any little boys who want to play with her. The unequivocable belief that she is always the most gorgeous lady in the room. Giving in. Toys ‘r’ Us. Dolls with squishy bodies and flat, bored eyes. Nostalgia. Disappointment. Elation. Fear._

_Fear._

_Being a father is looking into the eyes of a little girl and knowing you’d give up everything to make her happy. Being a father is knowing, and not knowing, and every permutation in between. Seeing the greys, the cracks, the fissures, the rips, the bruises._

_Being a father is being all grown up. Sometimes pretending to be._

_Being a father is waking up to find that gravity has shifted, that the world has changed, that you have changed. That she is yours. But mostly that you are hers._

~*~

“This is _so_ gay, dude.”

Josh grins, his hands snaking around Seth’s waist and pulling him flush against him. “Are you trying to say you don’t like Mariah Carey?”

Seth fixes him with a steady stare.

“I do like my divas,” Josh says.

“So, is it too late to give this back?” Seth asks, gesturing with his left hand.

Josh rolls his eyes.

“I just thought I’d ask,” Seth says. “Because I don’t know, I think maybe Mariah’s grounds for a div—“

Josh cuts him off with a kiss, one hand cupping the back of his neck as the other slides under his tuxedo jacket, fingers slipping under the waistband of his dress pants. Seth gasps and Josh smiles against his lips.

“Be happy you’re my dream lover, darling,” Josh mutters. “It means you can take me up take me down…” He lowers his voice to an almost growl, punctuating it with a well-placed grope, “take me anywhere you want to baby...”

“You are killing me,” Seth groans. “How long do we have to stay at this thing anyway?”

“You mean our wedding reception?” Josh says, eyes dancing with laughter. “I’d say until the end, babe.”

“Whatever, then people are just going to have to deal with the PDAs,” Seth says, fisting a handful of Josh’s hair and sucking his tongue into his mouth.

“Hey, posterboys for _Out_ magazine?” Summer taps Seth on his shoulder. “Ryan’s about to leave.”

Seth turns in the direction she’s gesturing to see Ryan stooping down to talk to Sam, who is explaining something to him in a very animated fashion. He’s dangling his keys from one hand.

“I’ve got to—” Seth begins, and Josh nods.

Seth makes his way over to Ryan, hearing Sam exclaim excitedly as he approaches, “And then the dog was barking so loud that Josh yelled out the window – he said—”

Seth caught Sam up in his arms, interrupting, “I think that’s enough of _that_ story, hon.”

Ryan crosses his arms, a smile tweaking the corners of his mouth. “But I wanted to hear the whole thing.”

“He said—”

Seth places her down on the floor. “Hey, sweetie, why don’t you go tell Grandpa Sandy the story, huh?”

Sam looks at him for a second with a hint of skepticism, then toddles off to find Sandy, who Seth thinks will find the story quite amusing.

A moment of silence stretches over them, elastic and smothering. “I just…thank you, man, for coming,” Seth says finally. “You don’t know how much it means to me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Ryan says.

Seth blinks. “It doesn’t – like, change anything, really.”

“Yeah, it does,” Ryan says. “Don’t say that, Seth. This is important. I get it. You don’t need to make excuses because you fell in love with someone who’s not me, okay?”

Seth feels his breath catch in his throat, and when he looks up at Ryan his chest tightens, an ache spreading along his collarbone and encircling his throat. “I don’t—”

“Have a wonderful time on your honeymoon,” Ryan whispers. “Don’t worry about anything. Me and Sandy and Kirsten – we’ve got Sam covered.”

“I—”

“Love you,” Ryan says, and when he clasps his arm Seth can’t help it.

He still feels the sparks.

~*~

_Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with a shudder, thinking:_ He could die. He could die tomorrow and he would never know. _But it’s a lie – this isn’t a heart attack sort of illness, it’s a wasting disease, a gotcha! type of sick that sneaks up on you from the side, behind, on a diagonal. It’s the body attacking itself – poetic, almost, for a man who’s always looking to protect others but is never ready for the sucker punch._

_So I make sure he knows, because we don’t know how long we’ve got, forever or a day or anywhere in between. I tell him. I hold his hand in hospital rooms. I let him lash out when he’s angry and I never tell him I know he cries._

_And his daughter – the daughter he asked me to raise, the child he supports and loves but who will never know him as her father – she will be his legacy. She has his eyes and his quiet diligence and she has him, and me, and Josh, and any man she graces with her smile because she has her father’s eyes and her mother’s sunny grin._

_When storms leave rubble and ash you can collapse into the smoldering dust or build castles and cathedrals. I think I’ve done both. Maybe that’s what love is. Giving in. Giving up. Giving._

~*~

“What? What? No. No stories of childhood allowed. You suck. Give me that back.” Seth snatches away the photo of he and Ryan on senior prom night. “You are tarnishing the memories.”

“All I’m saying is that I didn’t know it was possible to consume that much peach schnapps,” Ryan says, grinning as he takes a sip of his martini. “And you proved me right, all over the back seat of the Rover.”

“I officially hate you. I’m having cards made up to hand out at parties: ‘Seth hates Ryan.’”

“Perhaps your affection for girly drinks is why you got involved with a bartender?” Josh asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“I got involved with a writer,” Seth says with a roll of the eyes. “You’re all useless.”

“If you don’t want to relive your childhood, Cohen, maybe you should make some new friends,” Summer says brightly.

“Good idea. I’ll go do that.” Seth starts to get up, but Josh yanks him back down by grasping the hem of his t-shirt.

“Stay here, lover boy,” Josh says.

“A party’s not a party without you, Seth,” Ryan says, raising his glass. “Especially when alcohol’s involved.”

”You little b—”

“Being able to hold your liquor is a dubious talent at best,” Taylor lectures him. “So don’t feel bad—”

“Oh, lord, let’s not start down this road,” Summer says. “Taylor, hon, it’s way more effective to advise people on the evils of alcohol consumption when you’re not toasted.”

Taylor hiccups, and Josh cracks up laughing.

“How do you think the ‘rents are doing with the babies?” Seth asks no one in particular. “Do you think Sandy has brought Mikey Junior a briefcase and Sam a surfboard?”

“Mikey says he wants to learn to surf,” Summer says. “I told him he’s been watching too much TV and we’re going to move out of the L.A. area if he makes any more such declarations.”

“Dude – Summer – you’re kind of a bitchy mom,” Seth informs her. She sticks out her tongue.

“I didn’t really tell him that, moron,” she says. “I just said he’d have to wait until Christmas. He’s four years old, for god sakes. I don’t think they make surfboards in his size.”

“Hey, Seth,” Ryan says, getting up from the floor, “come show me where the rest of your liquor is.”

Josh’s eyes flutter over Ryan’s face, then over Seth’s. Seth gives him a small smile and follows his friend into the kitchen.

“Sex on the beach?” Ryan asks, and Seth nearly chokes on the tortilla chip he is in the process of consuming. “The shooter,” Ryan clarifies with a smile. “The drink.”

“I think I’m fine at present,” Seth says, voice husky, and clears his throat.

There’s a few moments of silence as Ryan moves around the kitchen, taking out various bottles of liquor and mixers, margarita glasses and mugs. “So…everything okay, dude?” Seth asks.

Ryan stiffens, putting down a tray of ice. “Not exactly.”

“Ryan,” Seth says, “just lay it on me, dude. No building of suspense necessary.”

“My T-cell count,” Ryan mutters. “It’s not great.”

“Not great like, ‘Hey, it’s alright, but not great?’ or not great like, ‘really not good?’”

“Really not good,” Ryan says.

Seth feels his stomach plummet. _We may experience some light turbulence._ Ryan is standing absolutely still, hand clasped around a bottle of Stoli, his eyes tracing the uneven surface of the mottled wood of the kitchen cabinets.

“You should really get these re-done,” Ryan says. “I know a guy.”

“Ryan – please, don’t do this,” Seth says.

“Do what?” Ryan picks up the bottle of vodka and pours a shot into a martini shaker.

“Act like everythings okay. Act like this is nothing.”

Ryan shrugs, pouring another clear liquor into the shaker. “I don’t know what to say, man.”

“What happens now? What does this mean?” Seth curls his hand into a fist, feels the prick of short nails in his palm.

“I wait.”

“We wait,” Seth corrects. “It’s always we, you know that.”

“You don’t have to say that, Seth. You have your own life, I get that, okay? With Josh and teaching and your art and—”

“—your daughter?” Seth’s voice cracks. He’s staring at Ryan, incredulous. “Even if I wanted to I can’t just ditch you and forget you, Ryan. Sam does not have my eyes or my Jewfro.”

“She’s more your daughter than mine,” Ryan says, his voice flat, bland.

“That is bullshit. That girl _adores_ you, Ryan.”

“But you’ve been there for her – fucking always, Seth, it’s ridiculous—”

“Dude, it is not ridiculous. I did it because I love you and all your issues and I understand what it is to feel trapped in a place you hate because that’s what my life was until you came into it and I just wanted to do the same for you, make things just a little bit…easier…” Seth is out of breath. He reaches out to steady himself on the counter behind him. In the same moment Ryan grabs his arm and Seth is off balance in the way he always is around Ryan. Off balance and yet perfect – a syncopated jazz beat.

“That is ridiculous,” Ryan says. “Your parents took me in straight out of juvie. You adopted my daughter. There is no comparison.”

“It’s not about my parents,” Seth insists. “It’s about how you were my friend even though I was total social kryptonite and you made me realize that if I want something I have to go out and get it instead of fucking around and whining about it. And you listened to me when I had nothing to say, nothing, dude, and you kept being my friend even when I was a jackass and deserved, like, awards for my jackassery. It’s because you would have done it for me, and you would never have asked for anything in return because that’s you, and—”

“Seth,” Ryan says, and Seth shuts up. “I am really fucking scared,” he whispers.

Seth says nothing, just pulls him into a warm, tight embrace.

He thinks, _If the silence takes you/Then I hope it takes me too._

~*~

_This isn’t right. That’s what I keep thinking. It isn’t right that someone so young and amazing should be…going. Going away. Leaving. Fuck. Dying. He’s dying._

_Tonight I sit in the hospital room by his bed, surrounded by flowers and gift baskets and chocolate and what the hell do people think he’s going to do with Brie right now, anyway? Have a cocktail party? I hate everything right now. I hate this room and these ugly grey curtains and the music they were playing in the lobby and the doctors, especially them, because today they told me he’s not doing so well, understatement of the century, of the fucking millenium._

_He’s sleeping. There are tubes everywhere. They drive him nuts. Ryan is not a good patient. He doesn’t like people to take care of him, because it means he can’t take care of himself. That’s been the Ryan credo all these years – fuck the world, it’s shitty and screws you over. All you’ve got is yourself, so make it work. No matter what._

_No matter what._

_Memories are eating my insides. It’s like having a parasite. All I can think about is that fucking map of Tahiti. I still have it somewhere, shoved in a drawer, under a pile of photos, in a shoebox, who knows. We never went._

_I remember one night freshman year when I was lying awake thinking about how strange all of this was, being away from home and surrounded by strangers and suddenly Ryan’s voice comes out of the darkness: “What are you thinking about?”_

_“This is weird,” I said. “Isn’t it weird?”_

_“Yeah,” he said. “Go to sleep.”_

_“I don’t know if I can.”_

_“Of course you don’t know if you can.” A rustling of covers. “That’s why you have to try.”_

_We were talking about more than insomnia, of course. But what I’ve always loved about my friendship with Ryan is that I never have to explain._

_Last night he almost killed me. We were watching some stupid sitcom on TV, I can’t even remember what, and suddenly he reaches out and grabs my hand and says, “You have to go.”_

_“Go where?” I asked._

_“Tahiti. Sailing to Tahiti.”_

_“But—”_

_“With or without me,” he murmured. “You have to go.”_

_I know it’ll never be without him, even if he’s gone. I’ll stand on cliffs looking out over water the color of lapis lazuli and think of his eyes, and the way I never noticed how blue the sky was in Newport until the day he arrived there. I’ll eat papaya and mango and coconut and reminisce about the time a couple years ago that we threw a party and Ryan and Josh made only tropical drinks, and Summer nearly fell in the pool after a few too many mojitos. I’ll take boat rides along leafy, tropical coasts and think of that first day I took Ryan sailing._

Just hit the high seas and catch fish right off the side of the boat. Grill them right there. Just total quiet. Solitude.

You won’t get lonely?

_You won’t get lonely?_

_I bury my head in my hands. I don’t know anything._

_I feel something brush against my arm, and when I look up I see Ryan’s eyes are open. “Have you been here all this time?” he asks._

_“I don’t know, that depends on what you mean. I was here last night, and then I went to get some coffee, and then I came back and I might have fallen asleep, I don’t remember—” I babble._

_“Seth,” he says, “don’t worry.”_

_I just stare at him._

_“You’ll be okay.”_

_“I’m not really concerned about how I’m going to be, Ryan.”_

_“Well, I am,” Ryan says. There’s a glimmer of a smile edging up the corners of his mouth. “Because we all know you’re a basketcase.”_

_The look I give him must be pretty harsh, because he nearly chokes laughing._

_“Dude,” I say, “you are totally treading a line right now. A dangerous line.”_

_He looks smug – as smug as anyone can look while lying prone in a hospital bed, skin the color of baby powder and as waxy as marble._

_“I’m not going to be okay,” I say after a few moments of silence. “I’m going to be a basketcase. Just like you say.”_

_Ryan’s eyes darken to cobalt, and I see him grasp at the arm of the bed, knuckles turning white. “I don’t want you to be a basketcase.”_

_“I can’t do anything about it, man. It’s going to be fucking hell because I love you more than – more than –” I fidget, playing with the strap of my watch._

_“Well, I don’t want you to be a mess, Seth,” Ryan murmurs, “because I need you to take care of my little girl.”_

_I’m crying – I don’t know how long I’ve been crying, but I can feel it now, wet streaks trailing down my cheeks._

_I think of Ryan staring into that nursery at the beautiful baby who would always remind him of someone he’d lost._

_And I understand._

_“You don’t have to worry about that,” I whisper, all I can manage with my throat scratchy and tight with tears. “I’ve got you covered.”_

For you, anything.

_“Well,” Ryan says, “good to know.”_

_“I just have a request,” I say. “Can you, like, hang out for awhile? You know, haunt me or something? ‘Cause that would be cool with me.”_

_Ryan smiles. I think of Thanksgiving break sophmore year of college, lying on Ryan’s bed in the poolhouse and watching bad 80s movies and drinking beer and Ryan laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, so hard he pushed me off the bed and told me he’d punch me if I said something that funny again._

_I never remember my jokes, but I always remember Ryan’s smiles._

_He reaches out and takes my hand, and I can feel how moist and cold it is. His grip is loose but his gaze is penetrating._

_“I’ll go to Tahiti,” I say. “But never without you.”_

_He clasps my hand more tightly. He understands._

_Then he closes his eyes._

~*~

Rocks push up into Seth’s feet, but he keeps on walking. Everything is lush and green and thick and humid and he’s relieved when he finally arrives at the overlook.

The urn is small, silver, plain. He sits down, crossing his legs. “So,” he says, “we’re here.” He holds the urn in both hands. A light breeze ruffles his hair. “I guess I should just say thank you,” he says. “For everything, dude. You know what for. I don’t have to…” He sighs. “I don’t know what I believe about heaven or hell or whatever, but I know wherever you are it’s a good place. I have to believe that, because that’s what you deserve, and that’s what I’d give you if I could.” He pauses. “Just so you know, Sam’s fine. She likes going to the memorial in our backyard – she makes you pictures and stuff.” Seth swallows. “Tahiti’s pretty nice, which is why I’m going to leave you here. Not, like, leave you leave you, but – I think you know what I mean. And when I come to join you, you can show me your world.”

Seth feels suddenly cold, even though he knows the air is tropical, humid, and heavy.

“I really miss you, man,” he murmurs.

His hands shake.

He opens the urn. The wind picks up for a moment and lifts the ashes into the air, a thousand moths riding the ribbon waves of sky. Then they’re gone.


End file.
